Strange Adventures of Eric Blackburn. Harry Collingwood

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СКАЧАТЬ ahead while I carve this beef. I can do that and listen at the same time.”

      “Yes,” assented Enderby. Then, breathing deeply, he gazed steadfastly at the clock for so long a time and with an air of such complete abstraction that at length Chips, who was sitting on the locker alongside him, gave him an awakening nudge of the elbow, accompanied by the injunction:

      “Heave ahead, man; heave ahead! You’ll never get under way if you don’t show better than this.”

      “Ay, you’re right there, my lad, I shan’t, and that’s a fact,” returned Enderby. “The trouble is that I don’t know where to make a start — whether to begin with what happened the night afore last, or whether ’twould be best to go back to our sailin’ from London.”

      “Perhaps the last will be the better plan,” I suggested. “If you start at the very beginning I shall stand a better chance of understanding the whole affair.”

      “Ay, ay; yes, of course you will,” agreed the boatswain. “Well, it’s like this here,” he began. “We left London last September — you’ll find the exact date in the log-book — with a full cargo for Cape Town, our complement bein’ thirteen, all told. Thirteen’s an unlucky number, mister; and as soon as I reckernised that our ship’s company totted up to that I knowed we should have trouble, in some shape or form. But we arrived at Cape Town all right; discharged our cargo; took in ballast; filled up our water tanks, and got away to sea again all right; and it wasn’t until the night afore last that the trouble comed along. Our skipper’s name was Stenson, and the mate called hisself John Barber, but I ’low it was, as likely as not, a purser’s name, for I never liked the man, and no more didn’t any of us, for though he was a good enough seaman he had a very nasty temper and was everlastin’ly naggin’ the men.

      “It appeared that he and the skipper was old friends — or anyway they knowed one another pretty well, havin’ been schoolfellers together; and the story goes that some while ago this man, Barber, bein’ at the time on his beam-ends, runned foul of the skipper and begged help from him, spinnin’ a yarn about a lot of treasure that he’d found on an island somewhere away to the east’ard, and offerin’ to go shares if he’d help Barber to get hold of the stuff. I dunno whether the yarn’s true or no, but the skipper believed it, for the upshot of it was that Cap’n Stenson — who, I might say, was the owner of the Yorkshire Lass — hustled around and got a general cargo for Cape Town, after dischargin’ which we took in ballast and sailed in search of this here treasure. Well, everything worked all right until the night afore last, when Barber, who was takin’ the middle watch, went below and, for some reason or another, brought the skipper up on deck. Svorenssen, who was at the wheel, says that the pair of ’em walked fore and aft in the waist for a goodish bit, talkin’ together; and then suddenly they got to high words; then, all in a minute, they started fightin’ or strugglin’ together, and before Svorenssen could sing out or do anything they was at the rail, and the pair of ’em went overboard, locked in one another’s arms.”

      “Went overboard!” I reiterated. “Good Heavens! what an extraordinary thing! And was no effort made to save them?”

      “Svorenssen sung out, of course,” replied the boatswain, “but he couldn’t leave the wheel, for ’twas pipin’ up a freshish breeze on our port quarter, and we was doin’ about seven, or seven and a half knots, with topmast and lower stunsails set to port, and of course we had to take ’em in, clew up the royal and to’ga’ntsail, and haul down the gaff-tops’l before we could round to; and that took us so long that at last, when we’d brought the hooker to the wind, hove her to, and had got the jolly-boat over the side, we knowed that it’d be no earthly use to look for either of ’em. All the same, I took the boat, with three hands, and we pulled back over the course we’d come; as near as we could guess at it; but although we pulled about until daylight. We never got a sight of either of ’em.”

      “What a truly extraordinary story!” I repeated. “And, pray, who is now in command of the ship?”

      “Well, I s’pose I am, as much as anybody — though there haven’t been much ‘commandin’’ since the skipper was lost,” answered Enderby. “But I’m the oldest and most experienced man aboard, and the others have been sort of lookin’ to me to advise ’em what to do; and since there’s ne’er a one of us as knows anything about navigation I advised that we should heave-to, hoist a signal of distress, and then wait until something comed along that would supply us with a navigator. But now that you’ve comed along we needn’t waste any more of this fine fair wind, because I s’pose you won’t have no objection to do our navigatin’ for us, eh?”

      “That depends entirely upon where you are bound for,” I replied. “Of course I shall be very pleased to navigate the ship to the nearest port on your way, but I cannot promise to do more than that. And you have not yet told me where you are bound. Did I not understand that it is to some island?”

      “Ay, yes, that’s right,” answered the boatswain, “but,” — here he raised his voice to a shout — “Billy, come here, my lad, and tell the gen’leman what you knows about this here v’yage.”

      Whereupon, to my astonishment, a very intelligent-looking boy, of apparently about eleven or twelve years of age, emerged from the pantry, where it appeared he had been helping the steward, and stood before us, alert and evidently prepared to answer questions. He was only a little chap, fair-haired and blue-eyed, and his eyelids were red, as though he had recently been crying; but there were honesty, straightforwardness, and fearlessness in the way in which he looked me straight in the eye, and an evident eagerness in his manner that greatly pleased me.

      “This,” said Enderby, by way of introduction, “is Billy Stenson, the skipper’s son. He haven’t no mother, pore little chap, so he’ve been comin’ to sea with his father the last two or three years, haven’t you, Billy?”

      “Yes, that’s quite right, bosun,” answered the boy.

      “Well, now, this gentleman, Mr — er — dashed if I can remember your name, mister!” proceeded Enderby.

      “Blackburn,” I prompted.

      “Thank ’e, sir. Blackburn. Well, Billy,” continued the boatswain, “this here Mr Blackburn is a first-class navigator, havin’ been an orficer aboard a liner, and he’ll be able to take us to Barber’s treasure island, if anybody can. But, of course, he’ll have to know whereabouts it is afore he can navigate the ship to it; and now that your pore father’s — um — no longer aboard, I reckon that you’re the only one who can say what’s the latitood and longitood of it.”

      “But that’s just what I can’t do, bosun,” answered Billy. “I know what the latitude of it is, but the longitude’s another matter. Mr Barber didn’t know it; Father didn’t know it; and I don’t know it.”

      “What!” I exclaimed. “Do you mean to tell me that your father actually started out with the deliberate intention of looking for an island the latitude only of which he knew?”

      “Yes, sir,” answered the boy, “that’s right. Let me tell you how it all happened. I know, because Father told me the story lots of times; and besides, I’ve heard him and Mr Barber talking about it so often that I’m not likely to forget a word of it. This is how it was: —

      “Before Mr Barber met Father, this last time, he was mate of a Dutch ship trading out of Batavia, collecting sandalwood and shell. They called at a place named — named — Waing — Do you mind, sir, if I get the chart and show you the place on it? Somehow, I never can exactly remember the names of these places, but I can point ’em out on the chart, because I’ve listened and watched while СКАЧАТЬ